


Anomaly

by TigerLily (Samifery)



Category: Blink-182
Genre: Jealous Tom, M/M, current blink drama, idek tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:33:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samifery/pseuds/TigerLily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your new... new boy toy! He's so smug and... and shit. Thinks he can take away <i>my</i> band and... and <i>my</i> Marky and you... you're just goin' with it!" Tom shouted angrily, taking a step forward. Mark had to quickly jump to him and grab his sides to prevent him from hitting the ground again. "Get off me!" Tom shouted, jumping backwards and landing back on the couch. He glared at Mark, but thankfully seemed to decide he was better off sitting down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is a story that was originally going to be a cracky one shot that then escalated into something entirely else. I have no idea where I'm going with this or what it's going to be, all I know is that Tomark happens, so cheers. Musink has happened, there's been talk about more, and Tom isn't happy at all.
> 
> Hope you like it!

Mark was startled out of his thoughts by his ringtone suddenly blaring away. He looked down to his phone he was still holding in his lap sloppily. The screen announced the name Matt Skiba. Mark frowned. It was almost 1 am, why would he be calling him this late? Mark hit answer and lifted the phone up to his ear.

"Hi, what's up?"

"Oh uh, hey Mark. Are you by any chance at home?" came the reply. The frown on Mark's forehead deepened and he looked around his living room worriedly. Matt sounded weird, high pitched and uncomfortable... but still, somehow amused. Conflicted.

"Uh... Yes?" Mark answered, scratching the back of his head confused. "Why? Is everything okay?" he asked, standing up and looking around for the pants he had discarded earlier, just in case. He was only wearing boxers and a t-shirt since he hadn't planned going anywhere this late.

There was a light off-sounding chuckle on the other side of the line.

"Yeah, yeah everything's alright. But uh... I need you to go outside. Right now."

"What? Why?"

"Just go outside, Mark. Okay? It's urgent. I gotta go now. Just go outside and you'll see. Okay, bye."

"Matt, wait a-," Mark stopped in the middle of his sentence when he heard nothing but white noise. He checked his phone's screen to make sure, and sure enough, Matt had hung up on him. By now the frown on his face had become so deep his eyebrows were almost touching. "What the fuck?!"

Mark located his rumpled up jeans on the back of a chair, pulled them on hastily and walked right to his front door, opening it to gaze into the darkness. The light shining out of the doorway illuminated the front yard and the steel gate at the end of it. He squinted his eyes at the metal bars. There was a form huddled on the curb, swaying a little like the grass in mild wind. Suddenly it started to move and grow bigger, swaying more and almost toppling over at its way up. Mark could hear mumbled words he assumed to be swearing, and closed the door after him, walking towards the gate with only socks on.

"Matt?" he asked into the darkness uncertainly. His only answer was a bitter laugh that send shivers down his spine. He could recognize that laugh anywhere. "Tom?!"

"Ooohhh!" the familiar voice slurred heavily. Mark could see him almost falling over again, only saving himself by putting his hand on the wall right next to the gate. "You still remember my name, huh?" Tom shouted, his words mixing and slurring together as he tried to balance himself next to the wall. Mark walked quickly to the gate, digging his keys from his pocket to open the door on it.

"Tom, what the hell? Why are you here?" he asked, too afraid to ask how Tom had managed to get to his front door in the shape he was in. He could see Tom's left hand grasping a vodka bottle tightly. It was almost empty, but there was still clear liquid on the bottom. It looked like Tom had been drinking it directly from the bottle raw. Tom mumbled something incoherent just when Mark got the door open and stepped through it, quickly making his way to his friend.

Tom reeked of alcohol. His clothes were dirty and disheveled, the knuckles of his right hand that was still supporting him against the wall were scraped and bloody, there was a nasty cut on his left cheek and dried blood under his nose. His hair was shaggy and pointing in all directions, and when he turned his head up a little, Mark could see that his normally so warm eyes were bloodshot and glassy, almost empty. Mark's heart sank and he couldn't fight the fear that squeezed his insides all of a sudden.

"Tom, what the hell happened to you?!" Mark asked shocked, bringing his hands to Tom’s heaving chest and his back to keep him upright when the guitarist tried to straighten up and almost fell over again. His only answer was a loud, hollow giggle, and Tom's free hand colliding heavily with his cheek.

"Mark, Mark... Marky Mark Mark," came Tom's reply after a few strangled breaths, followed by another mirthless giggle. Tom patted Mark’s cheek with his hand, probably aiming for something affectionate but not succeeding very well. Mark sighed and took a hold of his arm, throwing it around his shoulders and sliding his hand around Tom's middle, the other one still pressed against his chest. Tom giggled again, this time breathlessly, pulling away from the hand on his hip and leaning his body against Mark.

"That tickles," he more exhaled than said. Mark was sure he might get drunk just from breathing the same air as Tom when the breath hit his face and made him choke a bit. It made him wonder how much Tom had drank; he was sure the bottle still securely grasped in his friend's hand wasn't the only thing he had downed.

As if Tom had heard his thoughts, he looked down at the clear bottle on his hand and lifted it up to take another swig. Mark let go of his chest and quickly grabbed the bottle, pulling it away from Tom's lips before it had the chance to go even near them.

"I think you've had enough," Mark said sternly as Tom crinkled his brows and glared at him, trying to tug his bottle back out of Mark's grasp. Mark distracted him by moving his hand carefully over Tom side again, making him squirm and loosen his grip of the bottle, giving Mark the opportunity to pull it away from him and pour the remains of the vodka on the ground. Tom didn't seem to notice what he had done, going for the bottle again when Mark stopped stroking his side. Mark let him take it from him, watching almost amused how Tom lifted it on his lips, only to pull it back and stare at the now empty bottle with confused and lost expression on his face.

"Come on, let's get you inside," Mark said softly, pulling Tom towards the gate and getting no resistance as he helped his swaying friend through the door and swung it closed, glad he didn't need to lock it himself when he heard the resounding click of the door locking itself. It was difficult maneuvering Tom's tall form through the yard; his feet didn't seem to support him at all, the side of his head kept colliding with his own and his whole body was heavy and slack, like someone had removed all his muscles all of a sudden.

Mark had managed to drag Tom almost all the way to his front door when it suddenly swung open again, revealing Skye standing at the doorframe, dressed in only pajamas and a bathrobe. Tom groaned loudly and clamped his eyes shut, turning his head away from the sudden bright light coming from the inside and burying his head awkwardly into Mark's neck. Mark blinked a few times to adjust his eyes.

"Mark? What's going on?" Skye asked, lifting her eyebrows at her husband, who was weighted down by Tom's huge body. Before Mark had the chance to answer, Tom swiveled his head around again, squinting against the light, a wide toothy grin on his face.

"Skyyyeeeee!" he yelled joyfully, trying to straighten himself again, but only managing to trip on his own feet and almost make both himself and Mark fall on the ground. Mark gripped Tom tighter and pulled him back to his side, rolling his eyes when Tom leaned back to him with a content sigh. Skye's eyebrows had almost disappeared under her hairline.

"Look what I found in front of our gate," Mark said to Skye, dragging Tom forcefully to the doorway and through it when his wife stepped out of the way, crinkling her nose against the potent smell of alcohol wafting off of Tom. Skye closed the door after them and followed the two men to the living room, where Mark dumped Tom unceremoniously on the couch and stretched his strained muscles.

"How much has he drank?" Skye asked, staring at the messed up man who was still grinning goofily at her. Tom attempted to stand up, only to slump right back on the couch again.

"Not a lot," he protested regardless of his legs failing him. It didn't seem to dampen his mood in the least. Mark rubbed his hand over his face, looking stressed and worried still.

"I have no idea what happened, I haven't gotten much out of him," Mark told Skye in a low voice, eyeing Tom who was now staring into space contently. "I found him like that with an almost empty vodka bottle after Matt ha-"

"Yeah!" Tom's voice interrupted his explanation angrily. Mark turned to look at him. Tom had managed to push himself up on his feet, swaying dangerously back and forth with a sudden angry and spiteful expression on his face. He lifted his right hand, pointing at Mark accusingly. His swaying increased because of the movement.

"Your new... new boy toy! He's so smug and... and shit. Thinks he can take away _my_ band and... and _my_ Marky and you... you're just goin' with it!" Tom shouted angrily, taking a step forward. Mark had to quickly jump to him and grab his sides to prevent him from hitting the ground again. "Get off me!" Tom shouted, jumping backwards and landing back on the couch. He glared at Mark, but thankfully seemed to decide he was better off sitting down.

"Tom-"

"Don't 'Tom' me! You've already forgotten me! They all have! They even have a name for it! A name!" Tom's voice was slowly morphing from shouting to shaky whimpering and Mark was sure his eyes had started watering even if Tom had moved his head to stare out of the window on the other side of him. Mark looked at Skye pleadingly, who just lifted her hands up, grimaced at him and left the room. Mark sighed. He took a deep breath before walking up to Tom and carefully sitting next to him. Tom flinched, but didn't move otherwise. He was still looking away, so Mark lifted his hand and gently grabbed Tom's chin, turning his head towards himself.

Tom's eyes were a lot brighter now than they had been before. They weren't hazy or glassy anymore, but instead they were wet and hurt. A few tears were already making their way down his red face. Mark lifted his hand to Tom's jaw, swiping his thumb over his cheekbone. Mark searched his eyes, looking into them intently and trying to understand what exactly had made Tom drink this much. He knew Tom wouldn't get this broken up by some hateful comments from fans. But Tom's accusation that he himself had forgotten about him, and everything he had said about Matt...

"Tom, are you jealous?" he asked surprised when the realization hit him. Tom blinked, gulped, and tried to look away, but Mark's hand still on his cheek didn't let him. Mark thought he saw something like fear in Tom's wide eyes before he closed them and leaned his head heavily on Mark's hand. He didn't answer, which only confirmed Mark's suspicions.

At that moment Skye appeared back to the room, handed Mark a first aid kit with nothing but a sympathetic look, and then walked out again after Mark had given her a thankful smile. Mark pulled his hand back to himself, wiping it to his shirt to get rid of the dirty wetness of the tears. He opened the small box, putting some disinfectant on a piece of cotton wool and lifting it up to Tom's face again. The guitarist was following his movements silently, his eyes open again and look somber.

Mark touched the cotton gently on the gash on Tom's face, bringing his other hand to the nape of Tom's neck and massaging it a bit when the younger man flinched from the burn. Slowly, Mark cleaned up Tom's face from dirt and blood, wanting to ask where Tom had acquired his injuries, but deciding not to. Tom hadn't answered him before, it was doubtful he would now. Tom kept staring into his eyes intensely the whole time Mark's hands were working on his face. After getting him clean, Mark fished out a band aid and fit it over the gash on Tom's cheek, gently stroking over it with his thumb when it was in place.

Tom's eyes were getting hazy again, his pupils were big and unfocused and his eyelids were drooping. Without a warning he leaned closer to Mark and the next thing he knew his lips were pressed against his, kissing him softly and sloppily. Mark's mouth opened in shock and Tom sucked on his upper lip gently and then pulled away, giving Mark a shy and content smile before he leaned against the back of the couch, his eyes drifting closed. Mark stared at his best friend with wide eyes. Tom had kissed him. And then fallen asleep immediately after. That was new.

Coming to the conclusion it was all because of the alcohol and ignoring the tingling sensation still on his lips, Mark got up and set the first aid kit on the coffee table. He leaned down to rid Tom of his shoes and then his leather jacket, and then hugged him to tip him carefully to lay on the couch. Tom took a deep breath and exhaled against his neck, mumbling something that sounded a lot like "you're so pretty" in his sleep. Mark snorted and laid Tom's head on a throw pillow, lifted his long legs on the couch as well and then pulled the blanket from the back of the couch on him.

Mark straightened up and watched his sleeping friend for a while. His mouth was slightly open and he looked peaceful, breathing steadily, his body slack under the colorful blanket. It would most likely smell of alcohol in the morning, just like Tom did right now. The thought picked up Mark's mood; the blanket was one of Skye's more hideous decor choices. It was too bad Mark couldn't throw Tom on that stupid chair as well.

After some time of just standing there and watching Tom sleep, Mark finally turned his back on his friend and made his way upstairs. He wanted answers, but it was late and the only person beside Tom who seemed to know what was going on had seemed too busy to give them to him. Mark made a mental note to text Matt in the morning and headed to the shower to get rid of the dirt and the smell of alcohol. He wasn't sure if Tom would actually remember anything when he woke up.

Mark sighed and lifted his fingers on his lips. Tom had kissed him. His lips had been so soft and caring, regardless of how wasted the guy had been. And it had felt oddly familiar, like they did it all the time. They had never kissed on the mouth, not as far as Mark could recall, and definitely not like that. It had been honest and pure, loving. And it had left his lips tingling in a way he had never felt before. Mark gulped, pushing down the feeling of arousal in his lower stomach. He couldn't go there right now. It had been way over a decade since he had given any kind of attention to that kind of thoughts, and he sure as hell wouldn't start that again now. Tom had just been affectionate in their usual way, going a bit too far because of his drunken state. It was just like any other kiss on the cheek they had shared before, nothing more, nothing less. No reason to have an internal crisis over it.

Mark shook his head forcefully to get rid of his thoughts, turned on the shower and let the cool water wash everything away with it.

 

oOo

 

Mark slept restlessly and ended up waking up only a few hours after he went to bed. It wasn't even six in the morning when he slumped to the kitchen to make some coffee. Only when he had his first cup of the day in his hands he quietly walked to the living room to check on his friend.

Tom was still sound asleep, snuggled cozily under the blanket and breathing deeply and steadily. He looked peaceful. Mark smiled softly, leaning against the doorframe and watching him sleep. It felt like an eternity since he had last seen Tom asleep, seen his whole body relaxed and untroubled. Unstressed.

Mark would have been lying if he'd claim he hadn't followed Tom on social media since he and Travis received that email just before the New Year’s, especially after it all broke out in public. He had been very near picking up the phone and trying to call him several times, especially after Tom's outburst on Facebook. It had been titled as a letter to fans, but Mark knew better. Tom never gave out that much, he never said much about his personal life or opened up, not like that and definitely not publicly. He was so private and that was what made it difficult to read him. Mark had seen him get a lot of hate from saying things lately, things fans kept assuming to be him trying to win them back to his side. But Tom was intelligent, he knew fishing like that wouldn't work, he knew he would get nothing but hate from things that seemed like it. Like the tweet Tom had sent him, saying he wanted him to be happy. Mark believed him. Tom wouldn't say something like that without it being sincere.

Mark frowned, still observing Tom's sleeping face as he huffed in his sleep and turned on his side before settling in again. None of the more personal posts, not even the comments he had deleted, were for the fans. They had been disguised as such, but Mark was certain all of them were nothing but an attempt to communicate with him and Travis. Or at least with him. They were worded carefully enough to make them seem like casual answers, making people focus on wrong things. Tom was playing with the prejudice against himself he knew had existed for a decade. And all of it simply because he was too afraid to talk directly to him. Not that he himself had tried to do that either. Mark could understand that fear of confronting each other directly, pushing each other to the hatred that had driven them apart last time. Neither of them wanted that. Neither of them could have handled that again. It still hurt, having to go through this all, but it wasn't nearly as painful as when they had fought constantly, tearing each other apart at every chance they got until Tom had walked away, not able to take it anymore. It would be too easy to fall into that again. Especially because Tom had become impossible to read yet again. Mark wasn't sure what the guitarist truly wanted right now.

And yet Tom was sleeping on his couch now after finding his way to his house drunk out of his mind, apparently jealous and angry and miserable. Maybe he hadn't been worried about Tom's sudden weight loss the new photos of him showed for nothing. Something was clearly wrong. And Mark had no idea where to begin.

Tom moved again, pressing his front closer to the backrest of the couch and nuzzling his face against the blanket. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like Mark's name, a tiny smile appearing on his lips as he breathed deeply against his covers. He looked so innocent like that. Just like he had always looked like when he had still been a teenager, ready to conquer the world with his dreams and hopes pushing him on. Mark had always found him extremely adorable like that. Even now after all these years, he was still the same. At least when he was fast asleep and dreaming.

There was a loud _bang_ coming from upstairs, and a second later Jack was running down the stairs noisily, yelling “hi dad!” when he ran past Mark. Before Mark had a chance to answer, a strained groan announced him that Tom had woken up, stealing his attention immediately. Mark quickly followed Jack to the kitchen, got another cup of coffee and walked back to his friend who was now squeezing his eyes shut tightly and pressing a hand to his forehead. He sat on the coffee table, setting the mug down within Tom’s reach and watching him silently until he opened his blurry eyes and blinked against the morning light the room was bathing in.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Mark greeted him with a perky voice, taking a sip of his coffee and flashing a way too wide grin at Tom. The guitarist turned his head to look at him, his brows crinkling in confusion.

“Mark?” he asked in disbelief, lifting his hand to rub his eyes before looking at him again. When Mark hadn’t disappeared after that, Tom seemingly accepted he was real and pushed himself into a sitting position, looking around the living room. His frown deepened even more, followed by a grimace and a groan as his hand flew to rub his forehead. Mark lifted the steaming coffee mug from the table and offered it to Tom, who eyed it suspiciously for a second before accepting it anyway. Mark watched him taking a sip. It seemed to perk Tom up a little. After a moment of staring into his coffee, Tom turned his head towards Mark again, squinting at him like he was trying to read his mind. Mark answered with lifting an eyebrow, making Tom sigh and open his mouth again.

“Why am I here?” Tom asked hoarsely, scratching at the back of his head and glancing around again like he was trying to find clues from around them. Mark huffed.

“I was hoping you could tell me that.” When Tom just stared at him, he continued; “you showed up here past midnight piss drunk looking like you’d been in a fight or something. I have no fucking clue how you got here, you could barely stand up without falling on your face. And you didn’t answer when I asked.” Mark raised his eyebrow even more at Tom, but the guitarist only stared back with a blank expression.

“Last thing I can remember was drinking in my studio,” Tom said quietly after a short pause. Mark was sure he saw something like insecurity in Tom’s eyes just before he lowered his gaze to the coffee mug huddled between his hands.

Mark stayed silent for a moment, watching Tom drink his coffee without looking at him once, and contemplating whether he should tell him everything he knew or not. Maybe telling him would jog his memory and help him remember the rest of the night. But he wasn’t very keen on repeating everything out loud. Still, it would be worth a shot. He took a deep breath and started to talk.

“I found you sitting in front of our gate last night after Skiba called me a told me to go outside. He didn’t say anything else, just told me to go outside and that it was urgent, so I went to see and there you were, completely fucked up. You weren’t making much sense and didn’t really answer to anything I asked you. Really the only clear thing was that you were pissed at Matt because you thought he was, and I quote, ‘stealing your band and your Marky’.” Mark stopped and glanced at Tom. His eyes were still trained on the mug on his lap, but his cheeks were getting slowly redder and redder, indicating he had heard every word. “Then I dragged you in and patched you up, you kissed me and then fell asleep,” Mark finished quickly, biting his lip.

Tom’s head shot up, his brown eyes wide with horror as they found Mark’s again. His mouth had fallen open and when he talked, his voice came out high-pitched and downright scared; “I did what?!” Mark would have laughed at the image in front of him if the situation had been different.

“You kissed me. On the lips and all. And then fell asleep immediately after. Kinda rude, don’t you think?” he joked weakly, trying to grin, but only managing to form a half-hearted grimace. Tom gulped. He looked vulnerable and again, scared. Mark wished he could read Tom’s mind. Everything would be so much easier like that.

“Huh, I-I… I guess I must have been really wasted, then.” Tom’s answering joke was even weaker than his, coming out just as high-pitched as his previous question and sounding almost desperate. He looked like he wanted to sink through the couch and disappear. Tom averted his gaze and looked away, starting to fidget on the couch all of a sudden.

“Tom, what’s going on with you? You’ve been all over the place lately, you’ve lost a lot of weight, and now this… I’ve tried to understand, but you haven’t made much sense. One minute everything’s okay, the next you’re gone again sending out emails and not talking to me. And then you come back and act like nothing happened, before it starts all over again,” Mark said softly, his voice resonating sadness and confusion. Tom kept looking away and didn’t answer. Mark took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second, before exhaling and bringing his hand to Tom’s chin. Just like he had done last night. He turned Tom’s head around and met reluctant brown eyes. Tom looked like a cornered wild animal. “I need you to talk to me,” Mark nearly whispered, searching his eyes for answers and compelling him to answer with his gaze.

Tom gulped audibly. His eyes were wide and full of uncertainty and his lower lip quivered almost unnoticeably. He looked so much like his sixteen year old self that Mark couldn't help but sigh and pull him close into a hug, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as tightly as he could in their awkward position. Tom hesitated for a moment before setting down his mug and leaning into him, his hands sliding around Mark's waist and his fingers pressing against him like they never wanted to let go again. Mark rubbed Tom's back slowly as the guitarist buried his face into his neck, breathing deeply against his skin. He still smelled of alcohol; the smell was even worse now than it had been last night. Maybe he should just throw Tom into a shower before he tried to get him to talk. The guy was obviously beyond reluctant to tell him anything.

A click of a camera made Mark look up, only to find Jack standing where he had stood before watching Tom. He was typing furiously into his phone, a small crease between his brows as he concentrated to whatever he was doing. Mark lifted an eyebrow at him when he glanced at them. Jack shrugged.

"Ava says hi. Apparently everyone was panicking 'cause he," Jack pointed at Tom, "had gone missing. Jonas thought he had been abducted and was mad they didn't take him too." Tom snorted against Mark's neck, but didn't move otherwise or say anything. Mark huffed amusedly, watching Jack roll his eyes and leave the room, already absorbed in his phone again.

When Tom attempted to bury himself into Mark even closer, obviously not wanting to talk and instead just tried to occupy the very spot Mark was in, Mark sighed for the millionth time and finally gave up. But just for a moment.

"Dude, you stink. Come on, you're taking a shower right now,” Mark said, pushing Tom gently away from him.

“I should just go home, since they’ve been worried an-,” Tom started protesting, but Mark cut him off.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, squinting his eyes at his friend. “You’re taking a shower, and then you’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on. You chose to come here drunk as fuck, so you’re gonna explain yourself too,” Mark said sternly. He could see Tom wanted to protest further, but then seemed to give up and succumb to his fate. Mark closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at Tom sympathetically. “You know we need to talk. I don’t want a recap of the last time. And I doubt you do either. I just want my best friend back,” he continued quietly, looking near desperate when Tom looked into his eyes. The uncertainty on the guitarist’s face was back, but he nodded and started to stand up unsteadily.

While Tom was taking a shower, Mark texted Matt.

 _Want to tell me what the fuck is going on?_ he typed, not caring to explain himself further. He was sure Matt would know exactly what he was talking about. He glanced towards the door of the bathroom when he started hearing a faint voice singing a familiar tune. A small smile tugged the corner of his mouth; he was certain Tom was incapable of showering without singing something. Mark resisted the urge to yell “I’m feeling this!” through the door at every pause Tom made, and moved to sit on his bed while waiting for a reply from Matt.

It didn’t take too long for Matt to answer him: _Maybe you should ask him_. Mark frowned at the message. Matt was clearly trying to avoid the subject as much as he could. That couldn’t be good. At all.

_I did. He can’t remember a thing from last night. Just fucking tell me._

This time it took longer for Matt to answer. Mark was almost certain he wouldn’t reply at all by the time he heard the message alert go off.

_Alright, fine. I woke up last night to my phone ringing, just before I called you. It was Tom, he sounded drunk out of his mind and was saying weird shit and shouting about me stealing his band and shit. And then he started crying and talking about how you hate him and have moved on and now you love me instead of him and how unfair it is. I don’t fucking know, I couldn’t understand half the things he was saying from all the sobbing. He kept repeating that he loves you and I have no right taking you away, something about you belonging to him. He was really broken up about it. I tried to ask him what was going on but he didn’t really answer to much, just repeated what he had said before. Then he started shouting again, mostly about how he was gonna go and win you back and that there’s nothing I can do about it. When I asked him where he was, he said at your house and he was gonna go in right now. Then I’m pretty sure he fell over, there was a sound of crashing and then he was cursing, it sounded like far away and he wouldn’t answer me anymore. So I just hung up on him and called you._

Mark stared at the message, his eyebrows almost disappearing under his unstyled hair when he finished reading. He typed a quick answer of _okay, thanks_ , and stuffed the phone into his pocket. Tom was still in the shower, still singing, and Mark didn’t want to start overthinking what Matt had just told him, so he dived on the floor where Tom had left his clothes and went through all his pockets. No phone. He ran downstairs to check the leather jacket as well, left on the coffee table haphazardly. Only thing he managed to find were Tom’s keys, a selection of random picks, and his wallet.

Mark sighed deeply and rubbed his hand over his face. He grabbed his keys and headed outside, running to the gate and looking through it. There on the pavement, right next to the curb and very near a darker patch of concrete was laying a phone with a cracked screen. The way the cracks ran from a dented corner and up indicated it had fallen on its corner and then left there. Mark hadn’t noticed it last night, but he did remember Tom had risen up when he had opened his front door. Maybe he had still been down after the fall Matt had heard, and then forgotten about the phone when Mark had called out for him.

Mark opened the gate and went to pick up the phone, carefully turning it upside down and glad there were no pieces of glass falling out. He then pressed the button on the front to test if the phone was still working. The screen lit up, and Mark’s jaw dropped in surprise.

Tom’s lock screen was an old photo of the two of them. Tom’s eyes were closed and he was kissing the side of Mark’s head, like he had so many times before and after it, and Mark was smiling and looking into the camera. It was innocent and they looked happy. Carefree.

Mark gulped and started walking back inside, closing the gate door behind him slowly and looking up at his house. He wasn’t at all sure what to think. He didn’t know what was going on. And he didn’t know if he even wanted to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://40.media.tumblr.com/115f40d65c3294372b7fd912832798a4/tumblr_niwaz5iyD81rb95m8o1_500.jpg) is the photo Tom has as his lock screen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom reveals something important. Mark thinks he found an explanation to everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're not familiar with the song this story got its name from, you might want to listen to it from [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fIG4mMXpnAY).

Mark was sitting on a comfortable chair at the corner of his room leaning back lazily, his jaw propped up against his right hand’s fingers, when Tom opened the door to the bathroom gingerly and stepped out. His hair was still damp and he wasn’t wearing a shirt at all, giving Mark full view of his upper body. His hipbones were jutting out like they were trying to break the skin and escape, just like they had done when Tom had still been a lanky teenager, and he could see the outline of his ribs just as easily. He was even thinner than Mark had previously thought. A worried crinkle formed between his brows at the realization. Mark let his eyes roam the body in front of him more, paying attention to the faint scar left over from Tom’s cancer surgery, there forever reminding him of how close his best friend had been to dying from something so small and seemingly insignificant. He let his eyes travel over Tom’s skin, trailing along the slightly faded tattoos covering the whole of Tom’s left arm, the ones that were almost as old as their band, to the newer ones that still looked fresher and more vibrant.

Tom cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to another self-consciously under Mark’s scrutiny. Mark looked up at his eyes, lifting one eyebrow and waiting. Tom had removed the band aid from his cheek, leaving behind a quickly healing line of redness. It didn’t look nearly as bad as it had looked last night.

“Can you borrow me a shirt? Mine still stinks worse than you after a two week tour,” Tom said with a faint smirk. Mark huffed out in amusement but didn’t move. Instead he kept his eyes on Tom, considering him and his slightly nervous demeanor that, while often invisible to others, was obvious to him. When Tom shifted his weight again and started fidgeting timidly, Mark finally leaned up and reached his hand to grab a t-shirt from the neatly folded pile over his dresser he hadn’t been bothered to actually put away in the drawer. He tossed the soft black shirt at Tom, who caught it and shook it open to see the picture printed on it.

Tom shot a skeptical look at Mark upon seeing the octopus formed out of stars on the shirt. Mark lifted his eyebrow just a tad higher with an expectant expression on his face and watched Tom inspect the constellation of smaller and bigger dots on black fabric. He saw Tom slid a thumb over one of the eyes of the octopus and then glance at Mark with a tiny smile on his lips before turning back to the shirt. He stared at it silently a bit longer, until finally giving in with a deep sigh and pulling it over his head. Mark couldn’t help the satisfied smirk tugging on the corners of his lips upon seeing Tom dressed in his shirt. He had originally wanted to make this limited edition shirt because the constellation had made him think of Tom. Not that he would admit that to anyone, at least not now when the situation was what it was.

Tom smoothed his hands over the comfy fabric clinging to him and looked down when his left hand hit the tag sewn on the hem of the shirt. He fingered it for a moment, staring at the blue octopus on light greyish blue tag and flipped it over, an affectionate smile reaching his lips again when he saw a neat _hi_ ingrained there. Mark watched him mouth the word to himself like it was something precious and stare it a bit longer before letting the tag go and looking up with lost and uncertain expression. Mark’s expectant eyes didn’t seem to make Tom any more eager to talk. Instead the guitarist slouched to the king sized bed and slumped down on it, his head weighted down and his eyes glancing at Mark and then quickly away over and over again.

“I found your phone,” Mark said after a long silence, pulling the cracked device out of his pocket and tossing it on the bed next to Tom. He wasn’t sure if the flash of emotion in the dark eyes was downright fear, but it sure as hell looked like it. It wasn’t the first time this morning, and that concerned Mark. What was Tom afraid of? “It was on the curb outside the gate. Apparently you dropped it on your way to ‘win me back’,” he added casually, his blue eyes still trained on Tom somewhat expectantly. He followed Tom’s long fingers wrapping carefully around the phone, his thumb swiping over the cracked glass until it reached the button on the bottom and pressed on it. The screen lit up and Tom immediately tilted the phone so Mark wouldn’t have a clear view of it. Like he was trying to hide it, not wanting him to see what was on it. But Mark already knew.

“That’s a nice photo you’ve got there,” Mark said flatly. Tom quickly shoved the phone into his pocket and tried to shrug it off, but the slight sheen of pink appearing on his cheeks was a clear sign of his embarrassment. At least Mark assumed it to be embarrassment. He could see Tom struggling to come up with a comeback, something funny or stupid enough to distract both of them from the subject. It was clear the guitarist wouldn’t have wanted Mark to see the picture in the first place. Mark took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh.

“Do you really want me out?” Tom asked in a small voice before he had the chance to say anything. Mark closed his mouth and studied Tom for a moment, the way he was staring at his bare toes with a sorrowful expression while his fingers worried the hem of his t-shirt.

“You know I don’t. I want you to commit,” Mark answered. A broken chuckle left Tom’s lips and it reminded Mark of Tom’s hollow laughs from last night.

“Everybody else does. They’re happy about it, keep telling me how Skiba is so much better than me anyway, how horrible a person I am… that I should just stop being a greedy bastard and stop holding you back. None of them like me anymore, they just want me out of the way or dead or whatever. They say I should never have come back in the first place.” Tom spoke softly, defeatedly, and Mark could see he believed what he said. He knew Tom had acted brave in public eye, like he didn’t care, like it didn’t affect him. But there sitting on the corner of his bed right now was a broken and depressed man that fully believed that every single person who had previously adored him now hated him thoroughly. It broke his heart to see Tom like this, and he could feel the anger towards all those people who had driven Tom to this burn inside his veins.

Mark stood up and strolled to Tom, sitting next to him on the bed and pulling him tightly against his side, his hand resting on Tom’s other side on his hip and rubbing gentle circles on it. Tom had stiffened when Mark closed the safe distance between them, but he was slowly relaxing again and started leaning against Mark’s warm body, soothed by the tender, familiar touches.

“They don’t mean it,” Mark said quietly after a long pause. He had seen so many of those messages. He had gotten some of them himself, but it was obvious Tom got most of the shit poured down on their necks. But the worst ones weren’t the openly hateful messages, it was the hate disguised as support sent to him. Messages offering him and Travis support and putting down Tom, trashing him more or less subtly, often even viciously. Mark never answered to those, but every time he was close to writing an angry message back, asking the people if they really thought he wanted that kind of support. He loved Tom and he was absolutely certain everyone knew that; he couldn’t understand how anyone would think they were supporting the rest of the band while spreading hatred against Tom.

Tom scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. He shifted and pushed his arm behind Mark, wrapping it around his middle loosely, casual except for the fingertips that were firmly digging into Mark’s hip, telling him just how badly Tom needed the comfort their close proximity was offering him.

“They hate me.” Tom’s voice was so quiet Mark could barely hear the words breathed out.

It was hard to see Tom like this, beaten and defeated and driven so far. Mark hated the idea of pushing him forward and making him talk and spill his guts when it was causing him so much suffering, but he knew once Tom left the house he would pull the brave face back on and smirk at the world. It might be a false smirk, but it was what he would do. Tom had always been good at hiding his true feelings from everyone around him; but it often made him seem cold and uncaring, alienating him from the people who didn’t care to look deeper. And sometimes even from him.

Mark slid his hand up to Tom’s hair, stroking the damp strands with his fingers in a way he knew would make Tom feel at least a little bit better. He had noticed Tom’s tendency to calm down under that specific touch on the same day Tom’s parents had gotten divorced and he had desperately tried to comfort him. He could feel Tom getting heavier against him, slumping into his side and leaning his head against his shoulder. For a moment it was like nothing had changed in the past twenty years.

“Tom?” Mark asked softly as the moment stretched on longer and longer.

“Hmm?” came the quiet reply.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Mark asked tentatively after giving it a moment’s thought. Tom flinched and turned his head to hide his face into Mark’s neck. He could feel the hot breaths against his skin. It was the only answer he got. “I know you’ve been busy in the past couple of years and all, but you’ve been going back and forth with your behavior. One minute you’re all over me, enthusiastic about everything, like with the EP and wanting to tour and record an album. But when the time comes, you back away, you _run away_ , and you make sure to keep me at an arm’s length. You even stopped directly talking to me when I moved back here. At first I thought you just didn’t want to do blink, but now I’m starting to think it’s something else.”

Mark’s hand was still caressing Tom’s hair absentmindedly when he stopped talking and turned his head in an attempt to look at Tom. His position was slightly awkward, trying to press his face into Mark’s neck without outright climbing on his lap, his mouth very near Mark’s own.

Mark got the feeling Tom wanted to escape again, and he started noticing a pattern. Tom hadn’t answered to much, but he was way more reluctant when it came to questions relating to Mark. It was like he was desperately trying to keep away from that specific subject, like he was hoping Mark would just drop it if he didn’t answer. Unfortunately for him, Mark was too stubborn to just let it slide now that it looked like the center of the problem. Mark had hit the jackpot with the question, and it was obvious it was an issue that had been going on for years. Maybe it was the reason behind Tom’s erratic behavior, something that would explain everything to him. At least he hoped so.

Tom stayed still for a long time. Mark let him. It wasn’t like he minded their position, and Tom hadn’t made any attempts of running out of the door yet. In fact, he seemed to be soaking in their private little half of a hug. Mark would be the first to admit he had missed this, the physical closeness and gentle reassurance that came from it. Stretching it out wasn’t an issue for him, even if he wanted answers badly. He already felt like a dick for pushing Tom so much, but it needed to be done. He didn’t doubt that for one second.

Finally, after what felt like hours of silence and stillness, Tom started pulling away and settled back on the bed instead of clinging to Mark with most of his weight. Mark immediately missed it, but let him go. His hand slid down and stopped to Tom’s hip, continuing its delicate rubbing there on its own accord. He cocked his head at the guitarist, whose head was bowed down towards his own lap where his hands were now fidgeting nervously. Mark didn’t need to see Tom’s face to know what the expression on it was, it was obvious from the returning tenseness and jittery movements he was making. He did wish he could still read Tom like he used to, but right now he could do nothing but wait for the guy to actually reveal something.

Tom’s movements were sluggish when he moved to pull his phone back out from his pocket, not bothering to hide the lock screen from Mark this time. His long fingers were determined, but yet Mark could see them shaking slightly as the calloused fingertips slid on the cracked screen and opened the phone. He was curious to see what Tom was doing, expecting something grand that would clear out everything that had happened. It had to be something huge since it affected Tom so much. Possibilities of what it could be ran rampant through Mark’s head from the most ridiculous ones to the most simple, and yet, most dreadful. If Tom had to show it to him from his phone, it might be something more mysterious and secretive. Mark had always had hard time actually believing the conspiracy theories Tom was always going on about; they were often interesting, but what had kept Mark listening was always the way Tom’s whole face lit up when he talked about them, the excited glint that appeared on his melancholy eyes as he explained him how government was keeping secrets and what you really needed to look at to see what was going on. Tom had been talking about those things publicly again a lot, maybe there was a message there?

But to Mark’s disappointment, Tom didn’t dig out some secret files that would tell him someone had forced him to stay away from him. Instead, Tom opened Google and typed something on the search field quickly, not letting Mark see what he was looking for. He didn’t have to wait long, however, when Tom was already shoving the phone into his hand and looking away, gnawing on his lip on the spot where his piercing used to be.

Mark looked down at the phone and frowned confusedly. He scrolled down the page a bit, then back up again and lifted his questioning gaze to his friend. Tom was staring to the other direction, his eyes trained to the blank white door of the bathroom, keeping his eyes strictly there and away from him. Mark’s eyes flitted back to the screen and read over the words that were etched on the purple background.

What Tom had shown him were the lyrics for his song Anomaly. Even without the title announcing the name of the song under the big _Angels & Airwaves lyrics_, Mark would have recognized the words immediately. He had never been able to resist the urge to listen to everything Tom did, no matter how grudgingly, and this specific song was his favorite out of the album. It had made him homesick when he had first heard it; it had already been some months since the last time he had directly talked to Tom by then, and it made him miss him terribly. Mark hadn’t put that much thought into why this song in particular had affected him so much; instead he had ended up playing it on a loop and just listening to Tom’s familiar voice singing sweet words into his ears with a delicate melody that seemed to reach all the way to his heart. He had soaked in the beautiful song then, but now he didn’t understand why Tom would show him these lyrics like they explained everything.

“Tom?” Mark asked, his voice filled with confusion. He could feel Tom shifting around next to him, but this time it wasn’t just uncertainty, he could see the bits of frustration in the way the guitarist moved. Mark knew what that was about. Tom had always liked a little bit of mystery in everything, leave it to him to give Mark a riddle instead of being frank about it. Unfortunately, it tended to drive Mark up the wall in situations like this. It didn’t constitute as an answer in Mark’s book, so he stared at the side of Tom’s head, willing him to clarify his intention with the cryptic answer that Tom seemed to think cleared up everything. Tom gave up soon enough with an impatient huff.

“It’s about you,” he mumbled so quietly Mark had hard time catching the words. His eyebrows shot up in surprise and his mouth opened slightly as the sentence fully registered. His gaze slid back to the screen and the words on it. Now that he thought about it, it fit, if you discarded the words like “girl”. But it was a love song, it was so clearly a love song Mark couldn’t make it platonic no matter how much he would have tried. If it had only been the words, then maybe, but he could clearly hear Tom’s voice singing them to him inside his head. Tom had written a love song. About _him_.

“Tom?” Mark asked again, the name coming out of his mouth in a higher pitch than he had intended. He cleared his throat and tried to form some actual words in the mess that had just exploded inside his head. “You… Does this mean… Tom, are you… are you, uh… with _me_?” he stammered, downright ogling at the side of Tom’s head with nothing short of a horrified expression. Mark could hear him swallow loudly and from the look on his face when he glanced at him quickly, he realized how his utter horror might look like to Tom. But he couldn’t stamp it down now. “Since when?!”

“I-I… I realized it when you looked at me just before you uh… just before you said ‘I do’.”

It took Mark several seconds to process the words. Tom had been in love with him since he had gotten married.

“ _That was fourteen years ago!_ ”

“Yeah…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mark still hadn’t been able to shake the shock off. _Fourteen years!_

“Oh yeah, because that would have turned out great; ‘Hey Mark, I know you just got married and all, but how about it?’” Tom said sarcastically, turning his head for the first time since he had handed over the phone to Mark, and regarding him pityingly. Mark had to admit it would have been bad.

“But you got married half a year later! With a girl you had been dating for years! How does that add up?” Mark’s head was swimming. If he had been expecting any kind of explanation, this wasn’t it.

“It’s not that I don’t love her, it’s just… She’s a good friend and I couldn’t… I was too late. And she didn’t care, she told me she didn’t mind as long as I wouldn’t act on it, as long as I told her if something happened between us so we could work out what we’d do then. As long as I still had any feelings left for her and it wouldn’t affect our relationship in any way. I think she knew before I did,” Tom shook his head miserably, his teeth still worrying the right side of his lower lip when he wasn’t talking.

“You told her?” Mark asked, surprised. He wouldn’t have thought Jen would have married a guy who was in love with someone else.

“Of course I fucking told her! I tried to break up with her because of it! She needed to know I could never love her as much as she deserved, that I could never love her like I love you!” Tom all but shouted, standing up and starting to walk back and forth in the small space between the bed and the dresser. He was pushing his hands into his short hair, ruffling it up and making it stick out in odd angles with frustration edged in his every move. Mark stayed where he was, sitting still like he was paralyzed, only able to stare at Tom with wide eyes. It was the first time Tom had actually said the words out loud to him during their current conversation. It was by no means the first time he had heard the guitarist utter the words at him overall, but it was the first time Mark knew just how much more those little words meant to him. How different the meaning was from what he had always assumed it to be.

“Tom…” Mark started softly, but Tom interrupted him.

“No, Mark, this was a bad idea, I shouldn’t have told you. It will just make things more complicated. I should go,” Tom said, turning on his heels and going for the door. Mark shot up from the bed with a flurry of sheets and snatched Tom’s wrist, pulling him around and stopping so near their chests were almost touching. The guitarist backed away, only to end up with his back pressed against the light blue wall, his wrist still captured securely into Mark’s grip. Mark’s other hand was still clutching his phone tightly like it were a lifeline. He could feel Tom’s arm tremble almost unnoticeably, so he let his thumb brush over the thin skin of his inner wrist in an attempt to soothe him. Tom was eyeing him with a weird mixture of suspicion and disbelief in his somber eyes.

“Is this why you left last time?” Mark asked after a moment’s silence with a quiet voice. Tom closed his eyes and turned his head away. Mark took it as a yes. He knew they had been fighting terribly much back then, but he had always felt like he was out of the loop, like Tom was keeping things from him, trying to get rid of him. There had always been something more to it, and he had never been able to figure out what. Later he had just blamed it on the pills, thought it had been Tom’s addiction that had been the cause of all the weird behavior. Only now it dawned to Mark that everything had started going downhill only a few months after he had married Skye. Only a few short months after it Tom had started planning Box Car Racer, started distancing himself from him. It was all clear now.

Tom was looking at him again, his gaze flying over Mark’s face like he was reading something fascinating and wildly important. There was also frustration and again, disbelief, that disappeared a moment before he spoke again.

“Do you have any idea how much it sucks to be in love with someone you know you can’t have? How hard it was to be around you constantly, cramped in a small studio day after day, traveling in buses and planes with no room to breathe? And then there was the house, and then you wanted to tour more and more… I couldn’t take it anymore, I couldn’t handle you being right next to me every second of the day without getting to touch…” Tom’s eyes had gone hazy like he was remembering how it felt like back then. Mark could only stare. “And you wouldn’t let me have my space, you wouldn’t let me put any distance between us, you kept fighting me every step of the way. I had no choice! I had to leave! I had to run away before I ruined everything for everyone!” Tom’s breaths had gotten heavier and his eyes looked brighter and wetter like he was near tears. How long had he kept all of this bottled up? How long had it been since he last talked to anyone about it? Had he ever?

Mark moved to lower the broken phone on the dresser to free his other hand, lifting it to Tom’s jaw, swiping his thumb gently over his cheek. Tom let out a strangled laugh, fighting desperately against letting all his emotions spill over.

“But I missed you too fucking much. I couldn’t stop thinking about you for more than five seconds. I couldn’t stop writing about you or looking you up online every fucking day. I wanted to come back so much. I… I used the painkillers to escape that, but even they didn’t help. Eventually I realized it wouldn’t go away, and it hurt too much to not be able to see you at all. I wanted to come back long time before I finally got scared into it. I figured that if I just made sure things wouldn’t get as intense as before, everything would be fine. And you helped with it too, you haven’t tried as much either, and you moved to London, it was a perfect way to keep everything like it should be. But then you came back and I was so excited about it, you’d be here and I could see you every day and we could… I couldn’t let it get to that point again!” Tom paused. “I never meant this to happen again,” he whispered, his eyes full of pain and regret.

Mark did the only thing that he could think of. He moved closer and hugged Tom tightly against his chest, snaking his arms around him and pulling him as close as he could. Tom’s half-hearted protest soon melted into the hug as he gave in and hugged Mark back just as ferociously, burying his face into his neck again as far as he could. Mark started rubbing his hands against Tom’s back when he felt the sob-like breaths brush the skin of his neck. Tom wasn’t crying, but he didn’t seem very far from it. Mark let his hand travel back to Tom’s messy hair when the guitarist slowly let his weight press more into him, the hands digging into his back possessively. It gave Mark time to think, to try and plan his next words carefully. He dearly hoped it wouldn’t make things worse.

“Tom?” The only reply was a soft, broken hum. “You know I used to have a crush on you, right?” Mark asked gingerly. _Used to_ might not be the whole truth, but it was the easier way to say it. Tom’s head shot up faster than a bullet. It was his turn to be shocked, his eyes huge and incredulous.

“What?!”

Mark licked his lips uncomfortably, looking down with an indiscernible blush on his cheeks. “Back when we first met and a long time after that. I never said anything, I mean things were more difficult back then, and four years is a lifetime when you’re that young. I didn’t want to scare you away, and then later I just figured you’re straight and let it be,” he explained embarrassedly. He had obviously misjudged that badly back then, but he had never even considered other options before Tom was already in a committed relationship with his future wife. So Mark took what he could get and kept suffocating that little crush of his until it became a second nature to deny it. The problem was, now Tom was confessing his feelings to him, deep ones at that, and that kiss from last night hadn’t exactly left him cold.

Mark gulped and looked up, his gaze brushing quickly over Tom’s supple lips before he could force it to his astounded eyes. He could see Tom swaying slightly closer. They were still pressed together, their chests touching all the way, Tom’s hands circled around him and his own rested on the guitarist’s upper back and hip. He could feel the tension gathering in the air around and between them, the urge to lean that much closer and join their lips together. He knew it was wrong, but God he wanted to. It would only take a small movement to close the space between them, to get to taste Tom in a way he had been dreaming of since they had met, what he had gotten a sample of just last night…

There was a loud crash on the other side of the door and they both jumped, separating their bodies and breaking the all-consuming tension lingering in the air. Tom cleared his throat while Mark fumbled with his clothes, brushing nonexistent lint off of his shirt. The spell had been broken, and neither of them could bear looking at each other.

“So, what now?” Tom asked softly after a long pause. His voice was lost and uncertain, looking for some sort of solution to the situation. Mark shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he replied just as quietly, matching Tom’s expression when he looked up. Another long silence descended on them, leaving them both standing there staring at each other with a mixture of irresolution and longing.

Finally, Tom moved, picking up his phone carefully from the top of the grey dresser and pocketing it. He moved to the door like in slow-motion, stopping with his hand on the handle.

“You have my number if you want… you know, talk, or something,” Tom said with a wistful tone, and then pulled the door open and disappeared into the hallway.

Mark sighed deeply, falling back on his soft bed and covering his face with his hands. What the hell was he supposed to do now? His search for answers had definitely given him plenty, but it had also created many more and in the process of doing so, opened up a lot of old issues he was now forced to deal with. Whether he wanted to or not. So he ended up spending the next several hours laying on his bed, going through everything in his head over and over again and trying to find a proper solution, but when he finally got back up, he had found none.

Later that evening Mark was sitting on the living room couch with his acoustic guitar cradled on his lap, his hand frozen on the fretboard while the other laid motionless on top of the body. His eyes were unfocused and staring into space absently. He had taken shelter in trying to write a new song, failing tremendously in his task and constantly spacing out and ending up chasing himself around inside his head. Mark jumped when he felt a hand touching his shoulder gently.

“I think you should give it a go,” Skye said sorrowfully. Mark blinked at her in confusion, both for her words and the fact he had no idea how long she had been there. “It was hard not to hear what he told you. And I know how you feel about him. I always have. I know you won’t be happy unless you know how it could have been. If it doesn’t work out, I’m still here, we can talk about the future then.” She shook his head at Mark’s protesting frown. “I want you to be happy,” Skye said adamantly. “I know what you are like without him. It broke my heart to see you like that last time, and the past few months haven’t been much better. Trust me, Mark, this is better for all of us.”

Skye didn’t say more, didn’t let Mark reply. Instead she stood up and left her husband behind with his mouth hanging open in disbelief. He felt like he had just been dumped, regardless of what Skye had said. He didn’t doubt that she was right, he knew she was. He knew how much pain he had caused her ten years ago. Skye was protecting herself just as much as she was protecting him. Mark swallowed hard, and with a shaky hand, picked up his phone, typing out a new text message.

_Hey Tom, I know we’re married and all, but how about it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a teaser for the 3rd chapter: it happens on April 11th ;)


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